The Art of Deduction
by Jeannie Feegle
Summary: Sherlock seems to have met his match, and grows closer to the woman. However, it all turns out badly... Bit of Sherlock/OC She's a bit of a flirt. Set after A Scandal in Belgravia. Rated T for a bit of swearing and a little violence.
1. Chapter 1

_**They're fairly small chapters, but it all adds up in the end. Of course, I don't own any characters except Miss Belle. This is just a little introduction. The chapters are short but I'm going to lengthen them bit by bit, so there'll be more foreshadowing etc. Enjoy!**_

John came into his flat in Baker Street and was welcomed by gunshots. He sighed and went upstairs. He dumped the two bags on the space next to the desk and managed to get the gun off Sherlock. "What have I told you about guns? You know how pissed off Mrs Hudson gets. I'm keeping this with me for now," he sighed as his room mate dropped onto the sofa. "I was bored," Sherlock argued, "We haven't had an interesting case for two weeks. I mean, we haven't been summoned once, not even once for the last fifteen days. Why is that?"

"I don't know. Maybe they've found someone else," John replied dismissively as he sat down behind the desk and started typing on the laptop.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I'm the world's only consulting detective, and no one's as good as me."

"And annoying," John quietly added.

Sherlock turned to John, "What was that?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock got off his seat and came to John, "No, not your remark but that page. There was a woman on it, what was that?"

"Oh, this?" John clicked on a page where there was the title, 'Underground murders solved'. There was a picture of a woman coming to a house, the caption read, 'Miss Belle, the new consultant for the police, helps solve another case.' "Sounds like she's the one that has been taking all your cases away, Sherlock."

"Ha! As if someone like her is capable of that!"

"You never know."

"And what sort of a name is that, Miss Belle? Plus, that was a serial murder! Taking all the exciting things away from my life..."

"Well, why don't we go see her?"

"Good idea. Come on!"

"Wait! We don't even know where she lives," John said as Sherlock grabbed his coat, "Plus, what are we going to ask her and tell her?"

"We'll pretend we're journalists, and it's obvious where she lives, now hurry up!"


	2. Chapter 2

**SHERLOCK & JOHN**

They came to the area of London where it was known people who were well off, lived there. In front of them was the door to the house Sherlock was sure belonged to the woman he saw in the picture, Miss Belle. "Wait," John said, just as Sherlock was about to ring the doorbell, "So, what do we do?"

"Honestly, John, it's like you don't listen," Sherlock scolded.

"Well, I can't exactly help that if all you do is mutter _to yourself_!"

"_That_, John, is entirely your fault."

"How is it _my _fau-"

"So, we introduce ourselves as journalists from a fairly unknown paper, then start asking questions. Our names are Timothy Smith and um...oh you think of something."

"Fine, ready."

"You're never ready."

Just as Sherlock was about to ring the doorbell, the door opened. There was a fair skinned woman with her hair tied in a bun at the back. She had pitch black hair, pink tinted lips and blue eyes. She wore a bright red shirt and high waisted trousers. "Yeah, I'll be right there," she said in her phone, then looked at the strangers at her door and gave them a polite smile, "Oh, hello. Who are you?"

"We're journalists," John replied simply

"Oh, right, OK. Sorry, bit busy, just write down your names and phone number, put it in the post box and I'll get back to you," she said as she closed the door, locked it and walked past them to a white Mini nearby. She put her phone into her bag, only to have to take it out again a minute later. "Hello?" she sighed, "Sorry, just got called to another case. Can't you get the other one? Well, he's going to have to do. Yeah. All right, bye." She shoved the phone back into her bag and got into her car.

Sherlock and John watched her with frowns. Then, Sherlock's phone rang. He answered it, listened to the person at the other end then replied, "OK, we'll be there," and hung up

"Who was that?" John inquired.

"You mean what was that?"

"Just answer me."

"Fun. Taxi!"

…

They arrived at an old, boarded up, little house.

"What's so important about this?" Sherlock asked as they stepped out of the taxi.

"The body is a complete mystery to us," Lestrade replied as they walked in

"God, it's tiny here!" John commented as he looked around the small bedroom the dead man was in.

"Yes, I agree," Sherlock answered to his room mate's comment, "Everyone, get out." Without much hesitation, the room emptied, leaving John and Sherlock. "You too, John."

"What?"

"I need space, this place is tiny. Go home and do something boring. Knowing me, it won't take long." He was already deducing the possibilities. John sighed and went out. "Lestrade?! Was there a scarf the man was wearing?!"

**MISS BELLE**

It had been an unusually calm day. No cases, no nothing. Miss Belle was just waiting for the phone to ring. There it was. She quickly looked at her phone's screen and smiled. She slipped her feet into a black pair of flats and grabbed her bag as her phone rang impatiently. She only had this job for two weeks and her blasted phone had been ringing every day. They had said there was someone else before her, she hoped they didn't fire the poor bugger. She had gotten the job by accident, by simple coincidence. She didn't need it, but it was fun racing around the place. She finally answered her phone. _Another _arson. Maybe a serial case. She placed the phone in the crook of her neck and keeping it there with her shoulder. "I'll be right there," she said as she opened the door.

After hanging up, she realised there were two strangers in front of her. One of them was tall and had a tight jawline. His black curly hair made his green, or blue – she couldn't see them extremely well, eyes stand out brightly. The other one was smaller, and had sandy hair. There was something about them that made her feel a little odd. The tall man looked familiar as well. An article maybe? She made a mental note to check later. "Oh, hello. Who are you?" she asked, putting a polite smile on her face.

"We're journalists," the sandy haired man replied.

She gave them some polite instructions and went to her car. Then, her phone rang. Not another one. She told them the one they got before would have to do. She shoved her phone back into her bag and got in her car.

Journalists? They looked nothing like journalists. It was likely they were lying. She noticed as she drove off that the tall man's phone went off. Maybe not a coincidence. She could check when she got there.

When she did, her thoughts were not aimed at the case. At one point, her curiosity got the better of her. She had to ask. "You mentioned another person who you sometimes call to cases. Who is it?" she asked the officer that was with her as she looked through the files. "Sherlock Holmes, he was called to that murder case. Why?", the officer replied. "Oh, just wondering. Thanks."

Another unsolved, at the moment. The same words appearing on every scene, 'From JM', 'From JM'. It was irritating her to no end. There were lots of people in London with the initials JM, and it had the possibility of being a company, or a band. The possibilities were endless. They were getting closer to the suspect, but how much longer would it take? Maybe that 'other person' could help. It was time for her to find out a little more about this Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock got back to the flat, and found an interesting visitor was there. Miss Belle was sitting in the chair. He could immediately see she was relaxed by her posture. "Hello, Mr Holmes," she greeted as she noticed him standing at the door. She was wearing a pale shirt with high waisted trousers this time, and red heels, which matched the red, sparkly lip gloss she had put on. Her hair was in a plait. This was in-between matters of work and a casual visit, he deduced. He heard clattering in the kitchen. Typical John. "What is she doing here?" he asked angrily as he came into the kitchen. "She called and I invited her over," John explained.

"Why did you invite her over?"

"I was being nice. You know...nice?"

"Don't intimidate me, John."

"Oh, so you're not going to kick her out like usual?"

Sherlock just realised something, turned around and walked out of the kitchen. "My name, you called me Mr Holmes, how did you know that?" he asked as he stood by the window, still looking in her direction.

"You seriously believed I would fall for that reporter nonsense?" Miss Belle laughed as she looked around the room, "No wonder they replaced you with another consultant."

"I'm a consulting detective, not consultant."

"One way or another, you've been replaced, or demoted at least."

Sherlock got impatient and crossed the room. "Why are you here? Your clothing suggests you are working or some form of formal occasion but your make-up, hair and posture show you are in, or going to be in, a casual situation."

"Are you trying to impress me or intimidate me, Mr Holmes?" She stood up and stood right in front of him, a teasing little smile playing on her lips. "Or both?"

"You are keen in looking well, and clearly take a professional approach to your make-up. You're committed to your work as you don't have nail varnish on yet someone like you would unless there was a reason to, probably related to your work, so is your choice of footwear. You're confident and strong yet peaceful, the only thing deadly you carry with you is your strength and you wouldn't possibly use that."

"My turn. You enjoy working on cases because they keep you busy. Otherwise, you get bored and tend to vandalise your wall. When you're stuck on a case, you like to play the violin. You keep emotions out of the way because otherwise you will hurt so much, probably from something that happened in your childhood." She looked at the frowning man she stood in front of. "Shall I stop there?"

Sherlock changed his expression to one of shock.

"Thank you," she said as she took the mug from John, who was watching since he came in. She kept eye contact with Sherlock until she sat back on the chair.

Sherlock stood still, amazed by what she just said. How could she possibly know that? Some of it was obvious, things John might have told her but that last bit made him interested. "Sherlock, are you all right?" John asked in concern, watching his room mate just stand there.

"Stop fussing, John," Sherlock murmured. Then, he plastered an almost scarily nice smile on his face, making John wonder what the hell he was going to do. "I'm sorry, I haven't properly introduced myself. Sherlock Holmes." He held out a hand to his visitor.

Miss Belle smiled and shook his hand. "Aurora Belle." She could see him squint and think. "My mother was a Disney fairytale fan."

"I'm sorry about your loss," he said softly, his smile reducing to a smaller one.

"Thank you." She caught John's frown. "Not used to that reaction, John?"

John shook his head a little. "Sorry, what?"

"You were surprised at my reaction."

"Yeah, people usually wonder how he does that."

"So, why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

"I looked you up, and since you seem to obviously get bored without a case to work on maybe instead of sort of competing against me for cases, we work together."

"Why?"

"Does there need to be a reason?"

"There's a reason for everything."

"We'll be able to help each other. I'm stuck on a case, thought you might be able to help."

"What sort of case?"

"Serial arson. Seven killed."

Sherlock grinned. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

"So what do you think," Aurora asked as they examined the scene.

"The fire started at the front of the house," Sherlock replied.

"Yes, I can see that. Scorch marks. Anything else?"

"Upstairs." He went into the burnt living room, then ran up the now bare stairs, John and Aurora following him. "I'm guessing the police made the link with the rocks."

"Yeah, but what caused the fire?"

"Not every window has been smashed. One was to distract them, then they threw whatever caused the fire, threw rocks in the other rooms so that the police couldn't figure it out very easily. To be honest, they'd still be thinking of _what _caused the fire. Idiots."

"Of course! I missed that."

"You were wrong, John."

"What," John asked, confused.

"I'll tell you later. Shall we move onto the next one?"

"Sure," Aurora replied.

"So the arsonist made a pathetic attempt at covering up because it obviously all has been done by the same person or people. They're right handed which can be seen by the angle the rocks and other items were thrown at-" Sherlock explained as they drove away in the little car.

"Why are you explaining yourself," Aurora asked.

"John will need to catch up. Plus I'm not entirely sure you're caught up either."

"Charming. Anyway, I got all that. Next you were going to talk about the height of the suspects because there were obviously three, but that's still not good enough if we're going to catch them. What else?"

Sherlock ignored her, and was peering out the window, whilst John looked at both of them. "Stop," Sherlock suddenly commanded. Aurora sighed and parked the car on a curb. The car door flew open and Sherlock sped out. "Does he always do that," she asked in a sigh.

"Yep. Sorry," John replied and got out, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock groaned as they came to a dead end, "He's gone, thanks to you."

"Thanks to _me_," John repeated.

"Yes, if you hadn't made me slow down!"

"Well at least we have his wallet." John picked up the little black wallet which was on the floor.

"Oh, come on, John. It's not that simple, that could be from anyone."

"How tall did you say one of the suspects must've been?"

"5 foot 10 inches."

"And he's 5 foot 10 inches."

"You got lucky."

"Since when do you believe in luck?"

"Since when do you care?"

"What is wrong with you? You're not usually like this."

"This isn't a usual situation now is it?"

"Chasing suspects is a very usual situation for us."

"Oh, shut up. We've got to get this to Lestrade, I hate the boring stuff," he said, and snatched the wallet from John.


	5. Chapter 5

The wallet slammed on the wood. "I need to speak to Lestrade," Sherlock said to the officer behind the glass.

After a few minutes, Lestrade appeared, an expression of surprise on his face. "Ah, Sherlock. What are you doing here?"

"This will help you with the serial arson case."

"Ah, I see Miss Belle did contact you then?"

"Yes, does that matter?"

John shook his head at Lestrade whilst behind Sherlock. "No, not at all. Just curious."

Sherlock growled a little in suspicion, then walked away, John following him. John's phone produced a noise, and he took it out. A text message. Unrecognised number. Strange.

"By the way, I saw you," Sherlock stated as they went into the taxi he had summoned.

"Whatever," John dismissed. "What did you mean earlier?"

"I think you're referring to when I said you were wrong."

"Yes."

"She got it wrong."

"So do you."

"Prove it."

"You mistook my sister for a man."

"Oh, shut up. What's that text message?"

"Have a look yourself." He handed his phone to Sherlock, who chuckled as he read the text. It read:

_Find anything interesting? _

_AB x_

"Maybe I was wrong about you being wrong, John," he chuckled.

"What?" Sherlock gave him his phone back. "Who's AB?"

"Are you really that stupid, John?"

"Oh, received and understood."

"I think Miss Belle should visit us again."

"Sorry, what?"

"You heard me loud and clear, John."

"OK, I just wanted to make sure...Why, exactly?"

"Experiment. Phone."

"I'm perfectly capable of inviting her myself, thank you very much."

"Yeah but not in my way. Phone."

"Which isn't always the right way."

"You're mistaken if you think I care, now give me your phone!"

"No, not at the moment."

"Why not?"

"Personal...stuff."

"Fine, tomorrow then. You like to spoil the fun, don't you?"

John sighed. The taxi stopped at Speedy's, and the pair paid and got out, Sherlock's mind secretly boiling.


	6. Chapter 6

The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Sherlock shouted, "John!" John grumbled a yes as his flatmate padded down the stairs. He opened the door and his eyes widened when he saw Aurora. Instead of looking confident and strong, she seemed soft and almost gentle. A lock of her hair draped over her shoulder, gently touching the fabric of her pale floral dress. "You make your arrangements a little last minute, Mr Holmes," she stated as they went up the stairs. "It's Sherlock," Sherlock said almost politely. "Hopefully you don't get the wrong impression...Sherlock. I was visiting my father at the hospice. He prefers it when I dress a little more...feminine," Aurora said as she analysed the living room of the flat. She could spot seven new items in the room. She studied the furniture, and sat down on the part of the sofa near the fire.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and sat on his usual spot as John came in. He stopped at the sight of Aurora and gaped. A little smile formed on her face as she noticed John's reaction. "Stop staring, John," Sherlock scolded. "Sorry," John mumbled, and handed Aurora a mug. She let out a little chuckle as John sat down and sipped from his mug. "So, why have you invited me here, then," she asked. She knew the answer, but wanted to see what he would answer with. "Can't I ask for a visit," Sherlock asked, a teasing tone ringing in his voice. "Is that really what you do," Aurora retorted playfully. John frowned as he looked in-between the two. "Sometimes," Sherlock answered, and straightened his back. Aurora's grin widened, and John swore he could see a little one appear on Sherlock's face. This was new. "I'm going to make some more tea for myself," he said as he stood up, "Sherlock, could you help me for a minute?" "Of course I _could_, whether I want to or not is a different matter," his flatmate stated, and gave John a little smile. John rolled his eyes and sighed, "You know full well what I mean." Sherlock stood up and gave in, "Fine."

**SHERLOCK & JOHN**

"What the hell are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked furiously as he leaned on the cluttered table.

"Experimenting," Sherlock replied calmly.

"You _don't _experiment on people!"

"Oh, what are you, my mother?"

"You know _exactly _what I mean, Sherlock!"

"Oh, come on, it's not like it's a real experiment. I'm just seeing what she'll do, now can I get back to it?" He looked through the hap between the divider and the wall. She was by the mantelpiece now.

"Yeah but that doesn't mean it's right."

No reply. Sherlock was still studying his guest as she inspected the little snow globe. Mycroft had given it to him. Said that there's nothing like it. Thing is, he wasn't too fond of it. Another skull would've been appreciated more.

"Sherlock. Sherlock?" John tried to get his flatmate's attention. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned to him and snapped, "What?!"

John shushed him. "Be quiet!"

"I'll do what I want."

**AURORA**

They were quietly chattering in the kitchen as their visitor stood up and went to the mantelpiece. She inspected the little snow globe. Specially made, obviously. Perhaps a birthday present, either new or disliked. Something was going on in the kitchen. John had to get Sherlock's attention, followed by a loud 'what?' and a hush. Probably a heated discussion over something or other that should be kept away from her. She had other things to think about. This JM mystery was annoying her like the flies that come in when you keep your window open with the light on on a summer's night. Easy way to sort this. She saw a pen and some blank paper and softly walked to it. She mentally apologised to Sherlock, this was probably not what he wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Authors note: OK, this chapter basically has the romantic climax. I'm not the best at romantic bits, so if you have any suggestions don't be afraid to put them forward :)Hope you enjoy it!**_

_Two days later_. Sherlock was patiently sitting on a black sofa with five pillows. He was in a rather large living room. It was neat and consistent. Shelves held several items on the wall. There was soft music playing from somewhere else. He had a reason for being there. He wasn't invited but he had a reason, even though it was already evening. There was always a reason, and evenings bored him. He had finished most of his experiments, the ones not done would take too long to carry out in an evening, or he was just not bothered. Aurora came in, along with the soft scent of blossoms, that Sherlock secretly noticed. She was wearing a dressing gown, which covered a lavender night gown. She placed her hands on her hips. "I might have known it was you," she stated, "You do realise there's a reason why I keep my door locked. How are your cases?"

Sherlock chuckled, stood up and looked at her, "Casual conversation?"

"What else am I meant to do? You'll have your reasons."

He chuckled again. "What if I say I just wanted to see you?"

"I'll know that it's a lie. I don't think you're capable of getting soppy like that."

"Soppy?"

"Fine, romantic."

"You never know."

Aurora chuckled, "What are you doing here, then?"

"To apologise."

"To apologise? Wasn't your text enough?"

He came closer to her and spoke softly, "I'm sorry."

She smiled, came up to him and whispered in his ear, "There's nothing to be sorry about. So why did you come?"

"Do you need to know?"

She chuckled again, "I guess not."

"Really?"

"I'll find my way to the most likely answer."

Sherlock smiled. The smell of blossoms was intoxicating. It almost beckoned. It was pure, specially made, obviously. "Your perfume's gentle but powerful," he noted.

"You didn't notice it before."

"I didn't have time to."

"Or did you just not notice?"

"I _am _human."

"Whilst you usually shove most of your humanity away to focus on what you enjoy."

"What if some type of humanity I want to enjoy?"

"What sort?"

"The most dangerous."

"Really now?"

"You're a remarkable woman."

She gave him a suspecting look, which he returned with eager and teasing eyes. The aroma entwined them. It forced them to forget about everything else, about the world of never ending chaos. The end result being a small kiss. They separated from each other's lips as the aroma disappeared along with the kiss. They looked straight into each others' eyes.

"Well, that was new," Sherlock managed to squeakily state as Aurora's hand kept contact with his face. She laughed and put her hand by her side. Suddenly, something caught her attention. Something was in the window. She frowned a little. Sherlock was about to ask when she shushed him. "We're being watched." She went to the window, opened it and looked around. Nothing. "I'm not paranoid, but someone was watching us. I think it's best if you go." Sherlock looked confused. "For a clever man, it amazes me how stupid you can be sometimes."

"_That _is John's fault," he defended.

"Oh really?"

He thought for a few moments, then smiled. "Good night."

She laughed as he headed for the door, "Good night, Sherlock."

...

Sherlock fidgeted and pondered whilst the taxi he managed to get took him back to his flat. The events he had just participated in had confused him, and distracted him to no end. If she was like him, surely she would not have done that. Or was that _her _experiment? The woman confused him. He never needed empathy, but right now empathy was the key to the treasure that he wanted, his answer. Maybe this was _what _she wanted. He needed to stop thinking about it, but what else was there to think about? He checked his phone. Two new messages, then it died. Shit. Stupid thing. He always neglected it, only charged it once a week, and he liked it that way. He never _really _needed it, but now his curiosity _made _him need it.

John came back to his flat, to find it locked. That was odd, he never needed the key. Sherlock kept everything in order if unexpected guests arrived, the door was always open. When the man in question came home, John was full of questions. "Where have you been," he asked. "Apologising," Sherlock replied simply as he found his charger, plugged his phone in and checked the messages.

"Why this late?"

"I was bored," he answered whilst he read the first message and smiled.

"Right. What did you say?"

"I apologised."

"And what happened?"

"Nothing of importance."

"Really? It wouldn't have taken long for you to say sorry, her to accept your apology and then shut the door in your face."

"Oh, shut up, John. There's no need to be so condescending."

"Really, now?"

"Yes."

"Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow?"

"No! Can you let me focus now, please?"

"Focus? Sherlock Holmes, focus? Since _when _did _you_, Sherlock Holmes, need to focus?"

"Yes, it's not hard to believe, John!"

"What do you need to focus on?"

"Not important."

"Sherlock."

"It's none of your business."

John frowned, thought for a moment and smiled at the thought that appeared in his mind. "Sherlock..."

"Shut up!"

"You didn't..."

"I said, shut up!"

"You're going to have to tell me sooner or later."

"Moriarty. He's back."

"What?"

"He managed to send me a text."

"What did it say?"

"Just, hello."

"Hello?"

"Yes. Stop repeating everything I say."

"Sorry. Anyway, that's not the only thing is it? What happened with Aurora, Sherlock?"

"Be careful of the perfume or whatever scent she wears, it's intoxicating."

John looked at him, surprised. "And how would you know?"

"Don't."

"You're behaving like a teenager, now tell me."

"It was strong. Gentle but powerful."

"And...?"

"Nothing, it's hardly your business."

"Fine."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Sorry this took a while, and this is not the best chapter, but if you see any way to improve it, don't be afraid to say. It might get updated less as I run out of things to think of, but hopefully it'll still be updated every now and then. So this is mostly written in Aurora's point of view, enjoy!**_

_Next day_. JM, JM. Those two letters were stuck in Aurora's head like someone had glued them onto her mind. The events that happened last night had slipped. She had been wondering and fussing over what it meant. Now, it was in the back of her mind, all that she was thinking about was JM. She was sitting in her living room, twirling a pencil with her thin fingers whilst repeating the two letters. JM, J, M. Her hair was put in a messy ponytail, curly locks hanging out of it. She was wearing a pale, frilly top with leggings. She was only interested in the arsons, she rejected the other cases. Good for Sherlock, they'll keep him busy. JM, what the hell did it mean?

The doorbell rang. She snapped out of her thoughts and answered it. It was John. "Hello, John. What brings you here?" she asked, smiling at her unexpected visitor. "Oh, I was around and thought I could just come by and say hello," he replied happily. It came to Aurora that what he had just said was an all too innocent cover up of something else. "Well then, come on in," she said, and let him in, "Have a seat."

"Thanks." He sat down on the sofa, and tried to find the right time to ask his first question. Aurora returned to twirling her pencil, thinking of the initials. John found the time he found was right, "Yesterday, what happened with you and Sherlock?"

His question took her out of her thoughts. She quickly blinked a few times and looked at him, "Sorry, what?"

John sighed, "Yesterday, when Sherlock came back, he was acting sort of...weird. I was wondering what happened."

"Haven't you asked him?"

"Of course I've asked him, he just hasn't told me."

"Oh, I understand."

"Do you?"

She nodded.

"OK, what exactly happened?"

Aurora laughed, "Some things are best left to the imagination, John."

"Do you mean..."

She gasped, "John!"

"Sorry, it's all quite, confusing."

"But no, no, what you're insinuating is not what happened."

"OK, did anything happen?"

"It depends. What was he acting like when he got back?"

"All strange and grumpy and secretive. By that I mean more than usual."

Aurora chuckled, "Then it must have had an impact on him."

"What did?"

"That is between me and him," she laughed. Something in the window caught her eye again. She frowned. "John, have you ever heard of the initials JM?"

"Probably, but nothing important springs to mind, why?"

"It's been bugging me for a while. It's to do with the arsons. I think it might help us."

"OK...Could you tell me, how did you react to whatever happened last night?"

"I have been kept awake by wondering about the consequences. Does that give you enough?"

"That narrows it down, yeah."

The doorbell rang again. Aurora sighed, "Won't be a minute." She opened the door and frowned, "Sherlock." "Hello," Sherlock greeted in a sing-song way.

"John's here," she stated.

"Oh, I should've guessed," he grumbled, "Can I come in?"

"Of course."

He brushed past her and walked into her living room. "Ah, John. Would you mind leaving so I can talk to my friend?"

John turned around and frowned, "I _would _mind leaving. I want to know what's going on."

"John, it would make it much easier if you just went."

"And then what? I'll be kept out of the dark again?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Just go!"

Aurora came back in, "Excuse me but I think this is my house, not yours and _not_ drama secret land. So, sort out what the hell is going on or what is going to happen, outside." She wanted them to know she was irritated. Their little squabbles should _not _involve her, even if the reasons behind their squabble included her.

John looked at Sherlock. "Shall we go outside?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

Aurora giggled as both her visitors headed outside. They were definitely odd, maybe that was why it worked well between them. Whilst they were talking just outside her door, she resumed to thinking of the initials. No, sod that. Something was in the window, watching. She opened the one she swore she saw it in and stuck her head out of it to look around.

Meanwhile, John was trying to extort the information he wanted out of Sherlock. "John, please. I need to speak to her _alone_," Sherlock insisted.

"Why? What the hell happened, Sherlock? Why won't you tell me?"

"We all have secrets."

"Well I'd like to know this one!"

Sherlock thought about the right words to use. What the hell was he meant to tell him? "We shared a..." he sighed, "We shared a, a moment."

"What, you mean..."

"Yes."

"No!"

"If you don't believe me then fine."

"No, no, no. It seems, a little, believable."

"OK, now can I..."

"Yeah, sure, I'll go back to the, em, flat. Wait did you really..."

"Just go."

"Yeah."

John walked off, Sherlock could sense that he was thinking if he really was telling the truth or not. He took a deep breath and arranged the correct questions in the correct order in his head. Hopefully this would go according to plan. He re-entered Aurora's house and went into her living room. She was still looking out of the window. Sherlock let out a little exclamation and turned the other way. Aurora noticed it and bumped her head on the window frame as she stood back up, "Ow. Sorry, I was just seeing if I could see something."

"Oh, no need to worry," he smiled, and made direct eye contact with her, "I was just wondering, about what happened..."

"Yes, I was wondering about that too. What do we do?"

"I was hoping you might..."

"Oh right, yeah. I suggest we act like nothing happened. It was a sort of, spur of the moment, thing."

"Yes. I think that sounds acceptable."

"Acceptable?"

"I believe it's a perfectly good word," Sherlock calmly defended.

Aurora laughed at his defence of his choice of words. She placed her hand on his cheek and spoke softly, "Go talk to John. Sort this mess out with him. Talk to him and _listen _to him. Go on."

"Why?"

"Because friendship is something to hold on to. Go on." She let her arm drop to her side, and watched as Sherlock exited the room. She heard the door open and close. No matter what, she knew that Sherlock's friendship with John wasn't the best, and this way, she could focus on the arson case. JM...


	9. Chapter 9

_**Nothing much happens in this chapter either, just a little bit of banter between John and Sherlock. Oh and sorry it's taking so long, school's started and I'm getting incredibly stressed which doesn't deem good for my creative flow, also I have a high amount of English homework never mind the rest. The next chapter will hopefully be longer, it's what this has all been building up to. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**_

Sherlock came back to 221b Baker Street to an expectant John. He could still feel the softness on his cheek, which subconsciously made him touch his with his own hand. He entered his flat this way, and John was already trying to figure out what happened. He had never seen Sherlock look so distracted. "What happened?" he asked, unable to hide the smile that was forming due to his thoughts, "Did she slap you?"

Sherlock scoffed at his question, "No!"

"Then why are you holding your cheek like that?"

As if he didn't realise he was doing it, Sherlock frowned, looked at his hand on his cheek and hastily removed it. "No reason," he innocently replied.

"There's always a reason."

"I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"You do! You keep so much hidden, Sherlock! Tell me what happened! Please! I've had enough with you being irritating and secretive!"

Sherlock sighed, and prepared to loudly argue back. A text message. He rolled his eyes and got it out.

_Remember to keep calm_

_Arguing's not going to get you anywhere._

_AB x_

He heaved out a frustrated sigh as he read it. Then allowed his eyes to show John he was thinking. "I apologise, John. Forgive me," he stated calmly.

John looked at him in surprise. "OK, tell me what happened, then."

"We decided it was best to leave it in the past and move onto more important matters."

"OK, and why were you holding your cheek?"

Sherlock hesitated and looked for an excuse.

John sighed, he could see Sherlock did not want to tell him, "You know what? You don't have to tell me. Sometimes it _is _best to keep something to yourself." He stood up, grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

John turned around, and gave Sherlock an annoyed smile and replied, "Secret." He went out, shortly after the door to 221b opened and closed with a bang.

Well, that didn't help the situation, that was for sure, Sherlock thought. He angrily picked up his phone and rapidly tapped the buttons. [Send] [Cancel]. He thought for a while. No, she was distracting him. He was going to do what he wanted to do, not be her puppet. That's what he felt like. He felt vulnerable when he was with her. Vulnerable to the dangerous world of emotions. He enjoyed it, but that was what scared him the most. He could only think of the possibility of what they were was a cruel little trap she created. He pressed send and sighed.

Aurora's phone buzzed. She picked it up and read the text. An involuntary tear rolled down her face. How could he be so cold? She understood, of course she did, but the many possibilities why he had sent her that text, hurt her. It also angered her, and her anger forced her to accept the information and irritated demands. She let the phone carelessly drop back on the table. She began to focus again. JM, those two letters. So simple, but so complicated and important all the same...

She wasn't the only one who read the text though, and the other one was already one step further. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and what he was going to do. One way or another, Sherlock was going to have to say goodbye. He had already calculated the possible actions of the people involved, and he loved every single outcome. Before he physically did something to Sherlock, he wanted to play his emotional side, and let him hurt even more.

John came back from his walk. His head was clear now. Sherlock must have gone and slept in his room for once, he thought, as he saw the empty sofa. Sherlock's phone was still lying on the cluttered coffee table. It seemed to have irritated Sherlock earlier. John couldn't help but wonder why. He quietly picked it up and read the latest text he received. He smiled, it had to be her, didn't it? He looked in the sent messages part. The first one was cold, just like the old Sherlock. He wouldn't mind if she came and slapped him, hard. That was uncalled for, John thought, completely and utterly uncalled for. Sherlock had returned to his old self all right, and wouldn't apologise any longer. Maybe he could do it, she'd probably get mad once she saw Sherlock in her doorway anyway...


	10. Chapter 10

_**Well, here it is! This chapter is what it's all basically been building up to. I've been writing this for a while now, and it's not got the best character portrayal of Sherlock in the world but, any corrections that need to be made, please don't be afraid to say it!**_

"I'm so sorry for what Sherlock said to you. Well, oh, you know what I mean," John said as he entered Aurora's home.

"Everyone has their reasons, John," Aurora smiled sadly.

"Yeah, but Sherlock shouldn't have been _that _mean to you."

"It's fine, honestly. Would you like anything?"

"Oh, I couldn't-"

"Come on, the amount of times you've offered-"

"Cup of tea then please."

Aurora smiled, and disappeared into the room coming from the living room. John let out a heavy sigh as he looked around the room. It was in perfect harmony. The pictures had a sense of symmetry, and everything had its own little place. The decorated mantelpiece held a few items, the most prized object was probably the large jar, that was beautifully decorated as a magical meadow. He remembered what Sherlock said to her. _I'm sorry for your loss_. Of course it was that. Ashes.

Aurora had finished making the tea. She grabbed the mugs and turned round. She gasped involuntarily as she stared at the gun being pointed at her. "It's you," she said, "What the hell are you doing here?" The gunman shushed her. The shush was so slow it was sinister.

John had finished looking. He sat down, just as Aurora came in. She was holding two mugs, and was walking slowly. Something about her made John feel uncomfortable. Something wasn't right. She looked scared. "John," she said softly, looking at him with sad eyes, "Run. Please, go. You're not safe here." John became even more confused, "What do you mean?" He saw her look to the side, keeping her head still. Her eyes were filled with hate and as she did so. She took another step to her left. John could immediately see the barrel of the gun that was being pointed at Aurora. "Oh my God," he whispered. Aurora was on the verge of tears. "Please, John, I don't want you to get hurt. I'm so sorry. Just go," she pleaded, a catch in her throat, "Please. You need to tell Sherlock it's not safe. You need to be careful." John didn't move, "Who is it?" Aurora struggled to find the words, "I should've realised all along. Tell him it's JM. Please, just go. I should've figured it out sooner. I don't want you hurt because of what's happening." John stood up, and headed for the door. "Please," she said, "I'm so sorry." John ran out of the house. When he was out, he looked back. There was a gunshot, that was soon followed by two more. John scurried his mind on what to do. He needed to get Sherlock. He hoped that the worst did not just happen.

He got back to 221B, with shock and sadness covering his face. "What's wrong, John? It looks like you've seen an upsetting ghost," Sherlock said, with little sympathy as he read the newspaper. "Shut up," John demanded, making Sherlock look up in surprise. John had _never _used that tone before. It was low and angry, but also sad. "What can JM mean?" John asked. Sherlock forcefully hit the newspaper onto his lap, "Why do you ask?" John struggled to find the right words. He managed to find a simple answer, "It's to do with the arson case." He could see Sherlock think for a while, then his eyes widened, "JM, the initials of Jim Moriarty." John's face went pale. "John, why did you react scarily negatively to my reply?" Sherlock asked, worried. John fought with his mind to get the words again.

Luckily for John, his struggling was interrupted by Sherlock's phone. He took his suspicious analysing stare off his flatmate's, and replaced it with a look of boredom as he picked it up, "What?" Lestrade's muffled voice was heard at the other end, "Missing person's case. Important." Sherlock sighed, "You _know _missing persons cases bore me." "This one's different," Lestrade defended, "Please." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Fine, give me the address." Once Lestrade gave him his answer, he hung up and chucked his phone back on the table, "Come on."

They got into the cab Sherlock hailed. For some reason, it was often the same driver. "You're not usually called out at this time. Is it the new usual one, Mr Holmes?" he asked as he stated the meter. "Um, no," Sherlock replied, and recited the address. The taxi driver frowned, "Yeah, that's the new usual for you. Miss Belle's address." Sherlock's eyes widened, "Hurry up. We need to get there as fast as possible." "Yes Mr Holmes," the taxi driver replied, and started the car.

When they got there, Sherlock couldn't have leapt out of the taxi fast enough. John paid the taxi driver, and hurried after him. Sherlock's face was now pale with fright, as he saw the investigation team look around Aurora's house. He caught the eye of Lestrade, "Oh, Sherlock, there you are. We thought you wouldn't come considering-"

"I only realised on the way here, Lestrade, now what the hell happened?!" Sherlock spat out the words with anger and fright. He was scared of what happened, and if it was his fault. He felt, different, that was her fault. He was fine before now, he was fine until emotions got inside him and now they were breaking him down.

"The door was left open, the house seems to have been searched from top to bottom by someone. It was ransacked. Her car is missing and so are a lot of her valuable items."

"Show me."

Lestrade hesitantly showed him, but when they came to the living room, he couldn't help but feel angst rise in him. He immediately saw the broken window.

"We found a bullet in her garden," Lestrade explained, "And two were embedded in her wall."

"Yes, but if someone had a gun, then she might have been injured, or, to fear the worst, she might have been killed!" Sherlock internally kicked himself for saying that, it was showing his regression into being someone more sensitive, more vulnerable. He didn't need all this drama, he loved cases but not this. It showed him even more how she played with him, how she made him his puppet. Yet his hatred was overrun with fear and memories of how he felt with her. Somehow, he felt at peace and warm when the moment happened, but that was still what scared him. His head was a muddle and a mess of different feelings fighting.

John came in, looking rather anxious. He went up to Lestrade and said something inaudible. Lestrade nodded, and John looked around. He spotted the mantelpiece. The centrepiece of it was missing. He frowned and got closer, but he looked at his flatmate who's internal battle was erupting.

He couldn't cope. Sherlock raced out of the house and stopped not far away. He was breathing rapidly. It wasn't real, it couldn't be. Something like this couldn't have happened. She couldn't have just gone. She would have told him, at least. His deductions made him fear the worst, and internally, he hoped it wasn't real, or at least that she was fine. Hope wasn't something he had wished for for a while, not since he was a child. Neither had he cared for someone else's well-being. Stubborn tears filled his eyes, as he couldn't fight the negative thoughts running through his mind. This was exactly why he liked to shove his emotions in the back of his mind. He was fine with being rather lonely, it kept him safe, it kept him objective. He didn't even think of it as lonely, but now that had changed. Meeting someone similar had changed him. No, she had changed him. The woman he once had a rather romantic moment with had now brought him to tears. One teardrop rolled down his face. "Sherlock Holmes, crying?" a voice asked behind him. It echoed a little, but it was its softness and familiarity that made him turn around. Aurora was standing a few feet away from him. "Now that's not something you see every day," she said, a sad smile on her face. Sherlock couldn't hide the shock he felt. "Aurora," he whispered. Suddenly, John blocked Sherlock's view, a concerned look on his face, "Sherlock, are you sure you're all right?" Sherlock scoffed, and looked behind John. She was gone. A bewildered look came on his face. "Sherlock, come on, let's get home, you're not well," John stated. Where did she go? Was he beginning to imagine things? He shook himself out of his thoughts, gave John eye contact and replied, "No, I'm fine. I want to go. Back to the flat."

John nodded, "OK."


	11. Chapter 11

_**So, this chapter unravels something that was probably unexpected, and gives a bit of foreshadowing of what will happen next. Basically, this is in-between Hounds of Baskerville and The Reichenbach Fall. The next chapter may take a little longer because I'm going to need to watch The Reichenbach Fall again to make sure everything's in place. Anyway, enjoy!**_

"Hello, Mrs Hudson," John greeted as Mrs Hudson came in. He was sat on the cluttered desk, writing his blog. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, his legs straight out, leaning on the other armrest. "Hi, John. Morning, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, and looked hopefully at Sherlock, who ignored her. "How long has it been now," she asked quietly and sombrely. John sighed, "Two weeks. He's become more irritating than usual. He now gets bored quicker and when he's stuck on a case he's, well, like this. Or he plays his violin, but he's mostly like this. The only real distraction he's had was the whole thing with that hound in Baskerville." Mrs Hudson gave a sad sigh, "When do you think he'll go back to normal?" John shrugged, "I don't know. By the way he's acting, I think if we give it a few weeks, he'll be his old self." Mrs Hudson turned to Sherlock again and raised the letter in her hand, "This came for you today. Hand written. Out of Lyme Regis. Do you have anyone who lives there?" Sherlock looked up at her and frowned, "No." He stood up and snatched the letter out of his landlady's hands. He opened it without care, and his eyes widened as he recognised the handwriting.

_My dear Sherlock,_

_I'm so sorry for what has happened. I didn't know how else I could contact you without giving a lot away. Letters are more hard to trace. I'm currently staying at a lovely little B&B in Lyme Regis. I came here when I was a child once. It hasn't changed much. I'm getting a nice house in the countryside. Beautiful views, it's going to be lovely when it snows. I hope you and John are safe and sound, and that you've caught JM. Otherwise I hope you're close catching him. I want you to be safe. Once you let your guard down, he will attack. I want you and John to be safe, and I was compromising your safety, that's why I went. Before I go, I want you to forget about me. Knowing you, you'll be so bloody caught up with what happened to focus on what is happening now. We can both move on that way. You're a remarkable man, no one can deny that. So be the brilliant man that you are._

_With love, Aurora_

"Sherlock, what does it say? Who's it from?" John asked as he watched his flatmate look at the letter. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook out of his thoughts. "It's, em, it's from a friend. An old friend."

John frowned. "I don't remember you mentioning a friend in Lyme Regis."

"It's from a _close _friend, John. A very close friend."

"Do you mean, it's from her?"

Sherlock nodded, "I don't understand though, I saw her-"

"Saw her when?"

"When I ran out! She sounded like a ghost, in my head."

"She obviously isn't."

"You never know, John!"

"You need to keep positive, Sherlock, and remind yourself of the possibility that she _is _alive."

"It might be a clever trick."

"You'll never know."

"I want to find out."

"Well, where will you start?!"

"_I don't know! _I'll find time sometime."

"It's going to take you weeks. Months."

"I'll forget about her if that's what you want."

"Good, she wants you to forget and that's for a good reason. She cares about you, Sherlock."

Sherlock scoffed and returned to his quiet and irritable state. He wasn't happy with John's response, and it was all too confusing for him. An incredible amount of drama and curiosity. More cases. He needed something to distract him, to make him forget. Make him forget what happened, longer than the Hound of the Baskerville did, A case. A nice, big, interesting case would do for him, and he could feel one creeping around the corner for him.


	12. Chapter 12

Then there was what Sherlock wished for. The recovery of Turner's falls of the Reichenbach, the return of a kidnap victim, and the arrest of a wanted criminal. The popularity, the scandals, Jim Moriarty, and of course, Sherlock's suicide. All of it, plastered everywhere. Even in the smallest little towns in the countryside. Almost everyone had heard at least a little about it, even if it was just a passing comment.

_The autumn after Sherlock's suicide_

Sherlock waited impatiently at a countryside house's door. The late September breeze brushed his face and made his thickly curled hair shake in the wind. He rang the doorbell. It opened, Aurora found herself looking at the one person she never thought she'd see. Her face filled with shock and disbelief as she saw him standing there. Her hair was now a natural looking brown, and some of it gently rested on her shoulders "Hello," he greeted quietly. "Sherlock," she whispered. Her face lit up, and a smile crept across her face. They hugged, her head resting on his shoulder. She never thought she'd see him again. Well, she forgot about the possibility. Sherlock, on the other hand, had been waiting to smell that strong scent of blossoms again. She couldn't resist asking about the obvious, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked rather arrogantly, earning a nudge from her. "I came to see you."

"I've read the newspapers. They said you were dead."

"They've said more about me than that."

"I know. Impressive. When it turned bad, I didn't believe them. Not one bit."

They exchanged smiles, and pulled away from each other. Aurora let him in, and guided him to the living room. "How did you find me?" she asked as they sat down.

"Your father's hospice is near here, and I didn't guess, I calculated, then tried to find where you could be."

"Well, you obviously succeeded," she laughed, "Determination can always help you to your goal."

"What happened? When you left? When you ran away from London."

Aurora's face darkened.

...

_Moriarty quietly and sinisterly told her to go to John and pretend everything was fine. She came in, and walked slowly. She was going to make sure John and Sherlock would be safe, and he wasn't going to get in the way of that. "John," she started, trying to show something was wrong, "Run. Please, go. You're not safe here." John was confused, of course he was. She looked at Moriarty who smiled and nodded. She stepped to the left. After pleading to him, John ran out. Aurora sighed in relief, and gave a confident look to the man pointing the gun at her. "You shouldn't have done that," he warned._

"_At least they'll be one step further from you," she stated coldly._

"_I'll catch up. No matter what you or they do. I, will, catch,up."_

_Aurora's small smile wiped off her face._

"_But, you're not going to be able to do anything are you?"_

_There was no use in compromising. She knew for a fact that the man, Jim Moriarty, was mad, but true to his word._

_He cocked the gun. "Goodbye," he said sinisterly. He shot the window, which made Aurora jump. She took his savouring of her fear to her advantage, kicked him and snatched the gun off him. It wiped the smile off his face as he stared at the gun, but it reappeared as he thought of her refreshing actions, and the reality of the situation. "You're not going to fire that," he stated smugly._

_Aurora laughed, "Give me one reason why I wouldn't."_

"_Because I know a lot of people, and they know where you are. If I'm dead, you're going to be haunted by the thoughts for the rest of your life. And whilst I'll be dead, you'll still have to look over your shoulder. So will your precious Sherlock, and his friend John. You're not safe. Sherlock's not safe. No one is safe from me even if they killed me. And thank you. Thank you for ensuring that."_

_His words scared her. He ran out the room, two bullets flew his way as he ran. Stubborn tears filled Aurora's eyes. Sherlock was right. Of course he was. Nothing was going to sort this, but she knew how to help. She hurriedly got her suitcases and quickly filled them with what she needed and what was most precious to her. Once she gathered her things, she raced out of the door. She left it open, no matter what she did, they would find out she was gone anyway, might as well do it in a big way. She dumped it all in her car, and drove off. She had contacts, and with their help, she disappeared. No one knew. She was going to start a new life, elsewhere. One letter, that would be enough. Just one._

...

"What else?" Sherlock asked at the end. His tone was soft.

"Nothing, why?"

"I saw you near your house on the day you, um, went."

Aurora frowned, "I wasn't there. I went, straight away."

"But it must have been you, it must have."

"Sherlock, sometimes, the mind sees what it wants to see-"

"I saw you."

"I wasn't there. It must have been a trick."

"You were there!" His volume had risen, he knew what he saw.

"I wasn't! Please, calm down. Your imagination was playing a trick on you. You need to think rationally."

Sherlock took a deep breath, "Yes, I'm sorry."

"What did you do? After you, em," she found it hard to get out the words.

"I stayed for a while, kept myself hidden. After my supposed funeral, I went to look for you."

Aurora smiled, "Are you staying?"

"If I can."

"I'll get the spare room ready."

"Spare room?"

"Shut up! Does John know?"

"Know about what?"

"That you're still alive."

"No, but I know he's hoping."

"Does anyone know?"

"Only those who helped me after my supposed death."

"You can stay for a while, but sooner or later John's going to have to know the truth.

Sherlock smiled, "That sounds like a deal."

...

They had gone outside. Darkness was looming. The sun was beginning to hide behind the rolling hills that could be seen in her large garden. Their fingers intertwined with one another's, as they looked at the sunset. "I'll tell John after it snows," Sherlock suddenly informed.

Aurora frowned and looked at him, "Sorry?"

Sherlock turned to face her, "You said it was going to be beautiful when it snows."

She smiled and laughed, "I'm sure it will be."

Sherlock studied her carefully. There was something different about her. Something in her eyes. What was a confident sparkle turned into a simple and happy one. It intrigued him. Just a carefree sparkle, one that little children sometimes had.

"It's the countryside," Aurora explained, "Just being here removes the pressures."

"Pressures of what?" Sherlock asked, in a tone he surprised even himself with. It was soft yet deep, he'd never used that tone before.

"The worries. The hectic schedule of living in a city, especially the capital. They all disappear once you breathe in the untainted air."

Sherlock chuckled, "That sounds almost poetic."

"It was meant to be."

"Then let me try."

"Oh, don't do what you were planning. It's all soppy and clichéd."

He chuckled again, "Fine then. Would you like me to make up my own version?"

"That would be much more interesting."

"Is that all?"

"You know what else."

"I'll leave it for another time."

"What do you mean by that?"

"After I tell John, am I allowed to come back?"

"Of course you are. You'll always be welcome here."


	13. Chapter 13

_**In this chapter, not much happens, and it is fairly short. I just really wanted to write this chapter for some reason or other. The next will be a little more eventful, hopefully. As usual, suggestions are welcome heehee.**_

_Winter_

The snow heavily fell on the ground in thick bunches. It had been snowing for a while, and the ground was already covered. Aurora's brown hair contrasted with the lightness of her bedroom. It was light and airy, with pale, floral details. She opened her blue eyes and stared out of the long window that looked out onto the snow covered hills. "You were right," Sherlock said as he leant on the door-frame, "It is beautiful when it snows." Aurora smiled, "How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough," Sherlock replied, "Shall we?" Aurora got out of her bed, and pulled down a burgundy dressing gown from a peg.

They went outside, the snow had diminished in heaviness, and now only little bunches lightly fell. "It's nearly Christmas," Aurora stated, "Where are you going to spend it?"

"I thought, I'll spend the morning with you, get to London in the afternoon and be at John's by night. Is that OK with you?"

"That's fine by me. How are you going to get to London? I'm not going to drive you all the way there. Are you going to take a train?"

"I might do."

"Have you gotten John a present?"

"I'll get him something."

"You're going to quickly find something on Christmas Eve, aren't you?"

"Perhaps."

They both sniggered a little and looked at each other. "Make sure all the creases in your friendship with him are sorted out, one thing I can't stand is people fighting."

"Oh, we don't do much...fighting."

"Well, he could give you a welcoming you might not like."

"Oh, come on, John wants me to be alive. It'll be fine. Hopefully. If history allows me to create a prediction, it'll be fine."

"What makes you say that?"

"The proof is in front of me. I'm sorry for what I said."

Aurora smiled, and gently kissed him. "I forgive you," she said softly as their lips parted from each other's, "Sometimes those who have lost can gain with the others who have lost too. That includes John, and he'll have gained something when you go back."

"Could you clarify?"

"We all grieve when there's loss. John lost a friend when you, supposedly, died. He'll gain a friend once you let him know you're alive."

"And what about me? What do I gain from it all?"

"Sometimes it's not about the giver, it's about the receiver. He'll have some peace. You never know, he might be mocking up his life with someone who's taking him for granted."

Sherlock smiled, "You have a remarkable mind and a beautiful soul."

"You do too. Sometimes you just have to reach, and find what you keep away from, well, everyone. What is it?"

Sherlock sighed, and leaned so that their foreheads touched. His usual, cold eyes, looked sad, "Sometimes, it's best to keep something to yourself."


	14. Chapter 14

_**I love John's good nature, plus I don't think John would get extremely angry, after all, he did want Sherlock to still be alive, so that's why this is rather calm. Sorry to disappoint. I'm also finding some difficulty in writing the next chapter, so I'm not sure if that will come along or not.**_

A normal Christmas, for once. John was with his new girlfriend, Grace. They had already opened each other's presents. Suddenly, Grace's phone went off. She answered it, listened to the caller, and said, "Yeah, sure, I'll be there." She hung up and apologetically looked at John, "Sorry, Claire and the girls are going for a night out."

"But our night's only just started!" John defended.

"Sorry, you know I haven't seen my girls for a while," she countered.

"You saw them last weekend!"

"Sorry." She gave John a quick kiss. "Love you."

She went out of the new flat, leaving an exasperated John. Only a minute later, the doorbell rang. He answered it.

"You do realise she's cheating on you with a wannabe footballer?" Sherlock noted as he pushed past.

"Sherlock!" he said, astonished, as he followed his former flatmate. "How are you alive?"

"What do you think? I answered your wish. You wanted one last miracle, and here I am," Sherlock said, as if it was obvious. He dropped onto one of the chairs.

John was startled, "How did you survive?"

"We all have secrets. That is one I'm not telling you."

"OK, well, you look good. Where did you stay? You obviously kept yourself in order."

"I went to stay with a friend. She looked after me."

"_She_? You stayed with Aurora? You _found _Aurora?"

"Yes, obviously."

John's mind was teeming with questions. "How?"

"It's easy if you follow the right clues."

"OK, what did she do? I hope she gave you a slap at least after the message you sent her."

"You looked at my texts?"

"Yes, I did, now answer my question please."

"Fine, we hugged."

"You _hugged_? She didn't slap you? Didn't hit you, didn't inflict any purposeful harm to you whatsoever?"

"Correct."

"Wow, you are lucky."

"Why?"

"Because if it had been anybody else, your balls would've hurt for a very long time!"

Sherlock thought for a moment and then replied, "Fair enough."

"Wait a minute, you said you answered my wish, that I wanted one last miracle. How could you know that?"

"I was there when you and Mrs Hudson visited my grave, well, you know what I mean."

"What!? You were there?"

"Obviously."

"And you didn't come, at least to say you were alive!?"

"I couldn't, John, I-"

"I don't believe you! Why, Sherlock!? Did you _want _to see me and Mrs Hudson upset before you ran off to find your girlfriend!?"

"Do you listen to yourself!? Of course I didn't want to see you _upset_, I didn't want to see you dead!"

"What!?"

"I care about you, John! About you, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade-"

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it."

"Really!?" He forcefully swung the drawstring bag off his back, pulled it open and took a violin out.

"Where did you get that? I threw yours out."

"My point exactly."

"Do you know how bloody tough this is!? Seeing little reminders of you everywhere!? Did you think about how we would be affected!?"

"You're not making any sense, John."

"The people left behind have to cope, and it took me a bloody long time."

"What do you want me to say? Sorry that I saved your life, Mrs Hudson's and Lestrade's-"

"You could've come sooner!"

"At least I am here!"

John thought long and hard. He was rather relieved to see Sherlock, but angry at the same time. All this time, all this emotional torture that Sherlock's death had delivered, was for nothing. He was alive, and never took in consideration how it affected his friends. He didn't know what he was meant to say, whether to be nice to him or shout at him.

Sherlock could see the difficulty John was having, he didn't expect any other reaction from him. Perhaps he _had _left it too long. John had obviously been upset. Although, he didn't understand why. John had always been moaning as if he was telling off a little child. John cared about him, he realised that, but John never knew that Sherlock, never mind how mildly, cared about him. It was just a little, that little bit of care 'normal' people have naturally. Perhaps he was more human than he thought. Not that he was ever going to show it.

"Would you like me to say I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, in hope of breaking the tense silence that was nearly drowning them.

"Yes," John replied, then changed his mind, "No. I mean...Oh God, I don't know." He frustratedly rubbed his hand on his face as his mind continued to think about what he was meant to do.

"Well, make up your mind then," Sherlock sneered.

"Well, it's not exactly simple! It might be to you but it's Christmas! I don't want to cope with things like this on a day there's meant to be peace!"

"Well, maybe you need to-"

"Shut up! Just shut up. Please."

That was when John realised it was all too much. He had wanted a nice time with Grace. That didn't go as planned, at all actually. Then the person he never expected to show up, was there. His mind was still working out what to do, so his heart took over. He sat down and held a hand on his forehead whilst he silently cried. It was all too much. All he could think of was why.

Observing John's actions, Sherlock became agitated. He was now also in a position where he couldn't see what he was meant to do. John was there, clearly upset about the whole situation, and he didn't know whether to comfort him or seem as cold as he usually was described as. He found a medium. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically.

John looked up at him. The tears had fallen from his tears but were no longer running. "You know what, fine," he sighed, "Fine, um, yeah. I'll go make, um, tea."

"Of course," Sherlock smiled, internally laughing at how John returned to his usual self.


End file.
